Rubies and Emeralds
by Talfryn
Summary: A continuation of 'Meant to be'. Three months has passed since you last saw them. But what exactly has changed in the worlds of Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy? Rated M for dark themes.
1. Empty Eyes

**Hi peoples. **

**I'm alive. I think. **

**So, here's the new story, _Rubies and Emeralds_, a continuation of _Meant to be._ A note to any new readers: you do not necessarily need to have read _Mtb_ in order to understand this one. I'm sure that you'll catch on.**

**Enjoy!**

She clutched the ornately carved wooden bed post tightly, feeling the sharp edges of the stylised snake's scales digging into her palms, wincing as the corset was laced tighter and tighter around her ribcage. Gasping, she rocked back on her heels, her carefully-manicured nails scrabbling uselessly at the stiff white fabric around her stomach. One of the witches behind her muttered something, but all comprehensibility was washed away by the pounding of blood in her ears and the wheezing of her lungs as she struggled to breathe.

Cold white fingers wrenched her arms away from her stomach and stretched them over her head as countless layers of petticoats were unceremoniously tugged down her body, momentarily blinding her. A wave of panic washed through her blood, and she struggled to keep from tearing her way out of the frothy white fabric that engulfed her body.

Layer after layer was added, and when she thought that no more fabric could possibly fit around her tiny frame, more layers were piled on. _Take it all away_, she thought feebly, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the cold, accusing faces of the witches that surrounded her. _Just take it away._

But only more fabric was added.

A hand placed itself forcefully on the small of her back, propelling her unwilling feet across the creaky wooden floor until she stumbled to a halt in front of a shadowed mirror. A mutter came from somewhere behind her and the shadows lifted, leaving her own reflection staring back at her from within the glass, its staring eyes dark and dead.

The gown was floor length, its full skirt flaring from her corseted hips down to trail along the floorboards. The creamy fabric was dotted with dark rubies, clustered thickly along the left-hand side of her bodice and thinning out as they fell down and around the dress. The strapless neckline was sharp and straight, dusted with more of the bloodied gemstones. Her hair had been swept up from her neck, some of the long tendrils escaping from their pins to caress her skin. More rubies were dotted through the dark strands.

Her mother came and stood at her shoulder, not letting their bodies touch, but close enough to make her skin prickle with disgust and hatred.

"Astoria, dearest; you look beautiful."

She didn't respond, but stared blankly into the mirror, not removing her gaze from the empty green eyes that looked back at her.

One of the old crones grabbed her wrist. "Come," she rasped, and dragged her out of the bedroom and out into the dark stone stairwell that led to the great hall.

The stone walls emanated their icy coldness, twisting their invisible coils deep into her bones and establishing themselves there, promising to never be melted away, no matter how many fires were lit. She firmly held back the tears that threatened to flow, telling herself that they would only shame her, and bring no more comfort than the ones that she had shed over the preceding month had.

The stairs wound down continuously, the worn stone dipping in the middle of each step, threatening to trip up unwary feet. Her delicate heels clicked softly against the stone, a sound of ringing despair.

A man in a black suit stood at the base of the steps, his greying hair neatly combed away from his smooth forehead. A dark red handkerchief peeked out of his breast pocket, the bloodied depths of its fabric mocking her fate. The old crone left her there with him, as the rest of the witches filed past them into the great hall. Her mother gave her a small smile as she passed, which was dutifully ignored.

The man turned to her and cleared his throat. "Are you ready?"

She turned her head to face him slowly, feeling every individual fibre of her neck strain to make that movement. She wanted to say 'no'; she wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to pick up her skirts and run, as far away as possible, to the place that she was supposed to be. To the people that she was supposed to be with; to the man that she was supposed to belong to. And once upon a time she would have done that: spat in his face and run from this accursed house. But that part of her – the part that would've made her run – had died, almost from the moment that the words "You will marry him" passed her father's lips.

So instead of running, instead of escaping from this living hell that she was in, she nodded stiffly. Gently he took her hand and hooked it through his elbow, pressing the delicate bones close to his side.

And then the music started.


	2. Pumpkin Juice

The notes were slow and lilting, almost like a lullaby, but far more painful. Every single beat was like a stab at his heart, drilling deeper and deeper, until he was sure that his crisp white shirt was soaked with his life's blood.

A hush fell across the hall, everything except for the music falling silent. He was sure that somewhere amongst those notes was the sound of his heart shattering into a thousand fragments. _No, _he thought viciously, _that will not do. _There would be no breaking of hearts here today; she had never been his, and so he hadn't lost anything, really.

Almost in unison, every single head turned to face the back of the hall, where she stood arm in arm with Nott's father, her jewel-coloured eyes locked on the dais, where her husband-to-be stood stiffly.

Draco rose out of his seat slightly, cold panic running through his veins, urging him to run. But his mother placed a cold hand on his arm, and he thudded back onto the wooden bench, his eyes not moving from her pale figure.

The lack of sleep was evident about her eyes, as well as an unmistakable sense of resignation. Her arms were thin, and the bones in her hands stood out sharply against the pale of her skin and the ink of Mr Nott's suit, suggesting that she had not been eating well. He remembered the first time that he had seen her: small and fragile, curled into a corner of his balcony with a rug, deep in thought. A sharp spirit had flared quickly when he had disturbed her, but looking at her today he saw nothing of that lively spark that had once emanated from her eyes and words. No, her eyes looked like those that one would find in a corpse, dark and dead and staring. He doubted that there would be much life in her words now, either.

He knew that she opposed the wedding - Daphne had let it slip at a party of ex-Slytherins one night, about a month ago - but he hadn't thought that its inevitability would have beaten her into such a shadow of her former self.

And he had gotten to know that former self so well before the announcement of her betrothal to Theodore Nott. After her failure to appear at the Hog's Head, they had run into each other at a party hosted by the Flints.

Marcus Flint had both the looks and personality to make Draco's blood curdle, but he had been expected to attend the party nonetheless. Apparently Astoria felt the same way, as she had confessed as much when they had both headed for the same pot of floo powder at the same moment.

"_Oh! I'm so sorry," she exclaimed as her hand brushed his, reaching for the floo powder but encountering warm flesh instead._

"_It's fine," but he drew his hand back as if stung. Moving his gaze from the pot of floo powder to the delicate figure standing opposite him, he sighed exasperatedly. _Great,_ he thought_. Another witch 'accidentally' bumping into him; just what he needed. _But when his eyes met hers, he reeled back in shock, recognising her as not just 'another witch'_. _"_You_!"_

_She shied backwards, scared by his exclamation, but not enough to completely withdraw. "Me?"_

"_You were supposed to meet me-" he broke off as she held a finger to her lips and shook her head._

"_Not here," she said softly. As if just noticing the floo powder clutched in his hand, she gestured and asked him where he was going._

"_Home – I was going home," he paused, "where are you going?"_

"_Anywhere but here," she grimaced, "the Flints make my blood crawl." A sudden mischievous smile lit up her face. "But I am sure glad that Daphne had bad enough luck to be made to marry Marcus. Karma, I say."_

_He grinned back, suddenly realising that this beautiful young woman was the youngest daughter of the Greengrass': Astoria. _

_He took a deep breath. "Would you like to come back to my place then?" and then hastened to add "for a pumpkin juice," when a look akin to fear passed through her eyes._

_Moments of indecision passed as she tried to weigh up the pros and cons of leaving the party to go to his place. Eventually she said, "Only for a short while, and only for pumpkin juice."_

"_Great," he said, slightly embarrassed at the huge grin that spread uncontrollably across his face._

And true to her word, she had only stayed for a short while, and would only accept pumpkin juice. But during that short time, he had become entranced by the spark and spirit that poured from her words. He could almost believe that she may have slipped him a love potion whilst he wasn't looking, but somehow he knew that that wouldn't be her way. And nor did she need a love potion he realised, to ensnare any boy or man. She just had to smile, and her eyes would sparkle, and her victim was trapped.

But that sparkle was gone from her eyes now, and Draco felt almost sorry for the stationary figure on the dais; he'd probably never be the victim of that disarming smile.


	3. Joyous Day

A cold silver ring set with a single glittering ruby was slid onto the third finger of her left hand, the materialisation of the vows that Theodore had just intoned softly into the still air.

The floating cushion bearing the ring's twin floated gently over to hover by her right elbow. Numbly, she took the silver band between her thumb and forefinger, and repeated the same words into the same still air, marred by nothing but the sound of her voice and the gentle fluttering of the levitating cushion.

_All that I am and all that I have, I offer to you in love and in joy_ . . .

"All that I am and all that I have, I offer to you in love and in joy."

_From this day forward I will love and comfort you . . ._

"From this day forward I will love and comfort you."

_Hold you close . . ._

"Hold you close."

_And remain faithful to you for all of the days of our lives . . ._

Somebody amongst those gathered to watch moved slightly, the fabric of their dress robes rustling against the wood of the benches.

"And remain faithful to you for all of the days of our lives," she repeated tonelessly, her blood growing cold as the last chance to stop the marriage ripped like sharp stones through the gauzy fabric of the air.

The shrivelled wizard presiding over the wedding cupped both of her small hands within Theodore's larger ones, and placed the worn tip of his oak wand in the air above their conjoined hands. He whispered a small rhyme, the words falling like crumpled paper in his gruff tones. Tendrils of black mist shot through with red surrounded their hands, ever tightening, even as the old man stopped chanting and removed his wand.

She had expected the mist to feel cold. _Or hot_. She wasn't really sure, but she expected to feel something. But there was nothing; absolutely nothing.

It swirled around their hands for what felt like an age, before sinking into the skin of Theodore's hands, disappearing from sight.

They turned to face the guests, Theodore still clasping one of her hands - the right - and stepped down from the dais to a noise of polite applause. Various members of Theodore's family came and met them as they reached the first of the benches, congratulating them both, although most of their warmth was reserved for Theodore.

After congratulating his son and new daughter-in-law, Mr Nott spoke into his wand, directing everyone to follow the happy couple out of the great hall and into the adjoined dining rooms, "where there lies food and pumpkin juice aplenty for everyone, to help us celebrate this joyous day."

The cup she held in her hands was as steady as stone, the surface of the golden liquid it held flat and unmoving.

"You'll be fine, Stori," her sister, Daphne, murmured behind her as she loosened the lacing on the ornate bodice of the wedding gown. "It will be over and done with before you know it." She chuckled. "A friend of mine once said that he-" A knock at the door interrupted Daphne's flow of high-pitched words. _Thank the stars_, the unwilling bride thought feverishly, knowing that her sister had been about to launch into yet another story about one of her 'friends'.

She stood immobile in the middle of the heavily decorated room as her sister trotted over to the door, the heels of her bright pink stilettos clacking on the stone floor. Gazing about the room for the hundredth time, the sharp lights of the candles stinging her eyes, she apathetically regarded the large canopied bed; its thick covers turned down invitingly and sprinkled with blood-red rose petals. A large pitcher of the golden wine and a single cup stood on the mantelpiece, the cup's pair being the one that she held in her hands.

A moment later and her sister trotted back from the door, where she had been exchanging a few words with whoever had been on the other side.

"The groom's party is drunkenly attempting to make their way up the stairs," Daphne announced, resuming her work on the lacings. "They'll be here in a few moments." A few short tugs of the laces later, and the bodice slipped from around her torso, falling onto the hard stone floor. Daphne _tsk_ed, and a second later a house elf apparated into the chamber, carefully scooped the bodice up from the floor, and then apparated again, taking with it the creamy material set with rubies.

It appeared again as more and more layers of the intricate and voluminous gown fell to the floor, its small frame disappearing under the layers of petticoats that it carried away.

Soon she had been stripped down to a corset and a single floor-length underskirt.

Loud shouts and heavy footsteps sounded from the stairwell outside the bridal chamber, heralding the arrival of the groom and his party.

"Quick, quick," Daphne murmured, ushering her sister onto the bed, before taking a moment to arrange the bride's dark locks invitingly on the pillow behind her head. A sharp knock and some boisterous laughter made Daphne snatch her hand back and hurriedly close the drapes on the bed, concealing her sister within the secluded dark of her marriage bed.


	4. The First Man And The Second

**Just a warning: there is some mature content at the end of this chapter that some readers may find offensive. **

**In my opinion it's nothing much - it's not full-on, it's nothing overly graphic - but just a word of caution.**

**Enjoy :)**

Daphne's round moon face appeared in the dark of the stairwell, the flickering of multiple candles illuminating the room behind her. Theo stepped forth from the gaggle of drunken males that surrounded him, proudly coming forth to "claim his bride," as Flint loudly proclaimed. Daphne smiled tentatively, opening the door wider to allow Nott and his party into the chamber. "Be sensible now," she said, before heading down the dark stairwell, her heels echoing on the stone.

Draco well understood her warning: the tradition of the bedding-down ritual in the wizarding world was the same as that of medieval times, and when the potent combination of alcohol and men were placed in a room with a half-dressed bride waiting for her husband, things could get a little out of hand. Following the last of the men into the room, he left the heavy door open, just in case there had to be a quick removal of people from the room and out into the stairwell.

Already Nott's elaborately embroidered dressrobe had been removed and discarded carelessly in a pile on the floor; some drunken sot that Draco didn't know was standing on it, dragging it around the room as he shuffled along. Several loud jokes were made about Nott "casting a potent spell", and "sheathing his wand where it belonged". Draco winced at the vulgarity of it, casting an empathetic glance to the heavy cream drapes around the bed where surely Astoria lay, listening to every word and joke made about her new husband's manhood and her inevitable rape. _Surely it was rape_, Draco reasoned, _as it almost certainly wasn't consensual._

The room had fallen silent, and Draco removed his gaze from the concealed bed to see that Nott was staring at him; his once crisp shirt bundled in his fists. "Are you looking for something?" Flint asked threateningly, not at all one of Nott's close friends but happy enough to play along whilst there was free alcohol and a fight to be had.

"Oh no," Draco replied assertively. "Just admiring your drapes."

Everyone burst into laughter; everyone baring Nott and Flint, the former's cold eyes following Draco as he moved away from the bed where Astoria lay and went to converse with a young wizard of some relation to the Nott family.

A series of loud claps cut short all conversation as Flint took centre stage in front of the bed. "Now, my fine gents," he began, his crooked teeth glinting ominously in his greasy mouth, "I say, this has been fun, but why don't we let Theo remove his pants in peace, whilst we adjourn back downstairs to our own women?" He paused and grinned wickedly, looking pointedly at Draco. "Or any woman that we can buy with our father's money, if we don't happen to own one of our own."

A few wizards turned to look curiously at Draco, wondering about Flint's obvious barb. But with some gestures from Flint, they began to file loudly and drunkenly towards the staircase. One unfortunate sot was shoved a little too hard and took a tumble down the hard steps, the rest of the cohort almost pissing themselves with laughter as they attempted to avoid his unlucky decent.

Draco lingered at the door, unable to remove his eyes from the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of movement – _of life _– within the curtained wood. Flint loomed up rather suddenly in front of him, his hideous face twisted with a sneer. Nott still stood by the bed, his shirt in his fist, watching Draco intently.

"I would ask, Malfoy, that you no longer continue your acquaintance with my wife." His words were quiet, but as hard as the stone beneath their feet.

Draco turned icy grey eyes onto Nott, choking his words out. "If _your wife_ no longer wishes to continue the acquaintance, then I shall cease to see her. But I shall not obey a command from one such as you."

Nott's mouth contorted itself into something akin to a smile, but far more sinister. "I can assure you, she no longer wishes to continue the acquaintance." He shrugged. "She confided as much to me before."

The blood in Draco's veins boiled and surged, his heart beating rapidly. "Until I hear that from Astoria's own mouth, I will not believe you."

A sudden movement from the bed drew all three sets of eyes towards it. Wrapped demurely in a white sheet, Astoria emerged from the heavy cream shroud. Placing her dark eyes firmly on Draco, she tonelessly repeated her husband's words: "I no longer wish to continue our acquaintance."

The startling leap of Draco's heart in his chest pulled him forward, ramming him into Flint; but the quick impact of Flint's fist in Draco's abdomen forced him backwards, breathless and clutching his stomach. "Why?" he managed to wheeze at the floor. "Why, Astoria?"

But either she did not wish to answer, or Nott broke in before she could, because it was his voice that answered. "Because, Malfoy, it is indecent for the wife of one man to pay private calls to another man, when it is well known that the second man lusts after the first's wife." At a signal from Nott, Flint grabbed Draco by the collar of his suit and wrenched him upwards, forcing him to look at Astoria, standing shrouded in her sheet. Only her pale face emerged from the stark fabric, her dark hair tumbling down until it was caught beneath it.

Nott dropped his shirt onto the floor, and moved until he stood behind Astoria, his frame almost dwarfing her. Sliding his hands up her back and over her shoulders, he gripped the edge of the sheet and pulled at it, and after a brief bout of resistance, she let go. Slowly, almost teasingly, he uncovered her shoulders and laid his thin lips against the right, his eyes never leaving Draco's. Astoria also watched him unerringly, her empty eyes giving nothing away. She didn't even flinch when Nott dropped the sheet even lower, exposing the top of her embroidered corset to the eyes of Flint and Draco.

Lifting his lips from his wife's shoulder, Nott looked at Flint. "You are no longer needed here," he said, "go back to your wife." Flint hesitated, but Nott assured him that Draco "will not try anything." Reluctantly he released his hold on Draco's collar and backed out into the stairwell, closing the heavy door behind him.

Now completely releasing his hold on the sheet, Nott watched Draco's eye's cloud over, partly with lust and partly with anger. The soft fabric floated down, revealing the rest of Astoria's corset and her thin petticoat.

Slipping his hands around her waist, Nott slowly allowed his fingers to glide upwards until they were cupping her breasts. Gently he stroked the fabric covering her, before abruptly stopping and removing his hands. "Get out," he said, spinning his wife around so that she faced away from Draco. "Get out," he repeated when Draco did not move, his eyes firmly planted on Astoria's back. His usually cold demeanour suddenly melted, an unforseen rage bubbling to the surface. "Get out!" he screamed, and kicked at Draco's unmoving legs. "Get out, get out, get out!" he wrenched the door open and shoved Draco out onto the landing. "She is _mine_," he spat into his numb face. "_Mine_, you hear me? You will _never have her_." And he slammed the door in Draco's face.


End file.
